Everybody says so.
Nobody knows though.
Some just think so.
But what the hell do they know?

Silence

Digging
The search for words
Leaves me empty and blister-handed
Despair and thought swirl in a voiceless dance
Between my ears and
Any will I've had to speak
Disappears where my breath meets my lips
Guttural instinct has me know
There are things that need to be said
Words to be exchanged
Explanations waiting
Perched
Perilously on the edge
Of solving all
And no going back
And yet

Silence. And everything is dead.

Stay the moon
Cloudless and glowing
In her naked splendour
With her silver-white light
Cutting shadows
With sudden edges
Sharp enough to shave a man's face
Let her alien ambience
And constant strangeness
Reshape perception

And how stars sparkle
Heavenly diamonds on velvet night
So very many to see
And more beyond numbers
That our eyes will never see
And every moving star
Holds it's clutch of planets
An uncountable number
Of unheard stories

                                    By Phil Roberts

Art is the structure of currency,
Money holds a value even though it itsn't worth the paper its printed on.

What created its existence was a question.
What is the value of anything?

Art became the price of life , enslaved by its creators, Art was now controlled by the very thing we were creating, Money

Slave unto itself , by the media they made , controlled by the makers of our own creation we were fed.

What was fed became federal,
reserved for times value for the measure of work it takes to keep life sustained.

Life cannot be without money, just as money can not be without art or there is no Trade.

1405

Bees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles—
Buccaneers of Buzz.
Ride abroad in ostentation
And subsist on Fuzz.

Fuzz ordained—not Fuzz contingent—
Marrows of the Hill.
Jugs—a Universe’s fracture
Could not jar or spill.